


Hurtle

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve lost more than time. He lost parts of himself, the honest and good parts, the brave parts. A coward now, so changed by this new modern era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurtle

**Author's Note:**

> No specific 'verse and fairly explicit sex. Forewarning for angst.

Steve shows up at his apartment at about 7:30 in the evening with a few boxes of Chinese food and a sly grin on his face.

Bucky blinks. “Oh,” is the first thing he says before stepping back. “You brought food.”

Steve smiles and looks a little more awkward this time, not so sure of himself. “Yeah. You like Chinese, right? I know it’s just take-out, but ah, you know how it is.”

Bucky isn’t exactly sure what’s happening but he smiles and nods. “Come on in,” he says, stepping further back into the apartment. He turns and stands in the doorframe between the hallway and the kitchen, watching as Steve kicks the door shut rather gently and then sets down the food so he can pull off his boots and put them down neatly next to Bucky’s rather messy shoes by the closet. “I wasn’t expecting you,” Bucky says as they both walk into the kitchen and Steve puts the food down on the table. “Did you get utensils?”

Steve glances at him and looks a little guilty for a moment, his face falling. Bucky’s about to ask why and tease him about forgetting chopsticks again when Steve speaks up. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to drop in either,” he admits, running a hand nervously through his hair. “And yeah, we have chopsticks.”

They sit down to eat but it feels stiff and inappropriate. Steve seems comfortable but Bucky isn’t; he’s used to eating by the TV now, has completely assimilated to this new culture and how casual and easy everything is. How lazy everyone’s become. Steve, however, seems to hang on some, if not all, of the old traditions.

“Do you wanna watch TV?” Bucky asks anyway, because Steve’s still his best friend and he wants to feel secure in his presence. Steve blinks and then nods, and they quietly shift into the small living room where Bucky turns on some shitty sitcom. Mostly it’s just background noise, though they do watch for a few minutes before beginning to talk. It starts off small, casual things like the weather and what Steve’s been up to, but then it gets deeper, Steve muttering about initiative and bullshit and things Bucky only half understands. They leave their Chinese on the table and lounge with the sound on low, Bucky sometimes laughing and leaning into Steve’s shoulder, comfortable with him in a way he hasn’t been in a very long time.

Bucky isn’t sure who initiates the kiss, but it’s warm and careless and quickly turns sloppy, until they begin to unhinge themselves. Bucky isn’t even sure what he’s doing exactly, his fingers too fast and missing buttons in Steve’s shirt. Steve has a strong mouth, sucking bruises into Bucky’s neck and thrusting their hips together so Bucky can feel their hard-ons grind together. The friction is amazing and Bucky could get lost like this, sort of half-dressed and guided movements on Steve’s lap, but Steve has other ideas.

“I haven’t been here before,” Steve says, voice gravelly against Bucky’s throat before he kisses along his jaw, lips against stubble, breath on skin. “Where’s your bedroom?”

It’s almost more of a demand than a statement and Bucky nearly falls as he scrambles off of Steve’s lap, but Steve catches his hip before he can move too far away, forcing in a powerful kiss. Bucky’s heart is racing and he tugs Steve closer, stumbling out of the room and down the one other hallway, past the bathroom door. He yanks open the master bedroom (also the only bedroom) but Steve is stronger and faster and shuts the door, pushing Bucky down onto the mattress.

Bucky watches from his position on his back as Steve strips out of his dress shirt and tie, definitely not quickly enough. Bucky palms himself through his jeans to relieve some of the pressure but it only makes his dick ache more, and the thoughts flashing through his head are a strong indication of what he needs to happen next.

“Condoms and lube are in the dresser.” Bucky’s a little surprised by how hoarse his voice is but he supposes he shouldn’t be. Steve nods and walks across the room, pants hanging low and neat on his hips, muscles perfect and taut and so different from when they first knew each other. Steve steps back to Bucky and drops the lube and packet of condoms on the bed before crawling back on top of him, straddling Bucky’s hips.

Steve quickly pulls Bucky's jeans down and Bucky hardly knows what's happening until Steve is fisting his cock, giving slow strokes as he lubes the fingers of his other hand and pushes one inside carefully. Bucky’s hips jerk and roll and it doesn’t exactly feel good but it doesn’t feel bad either. The second finger stretches and Steve thumbs over the slit of Bucky’s cock, and Bucky nearly loses it. _Too fast, too fast_ he thinks, gritting his teeth and trying to keep control as Steve’s fingers stretch him open and crook inside of him.

The third finger leaves Bucky gasping and clenching his hands into the sheets, grinding down on Steve’s hand as he thrusts into Bucky, something that looks oddly like experience in his eyes, making him seem sharper. 

Steve finally kisses him as he slides his fingers out and the feeling of being totally empty is almost a relief, but mostly makes Bucky burn with harsh desire. “Fuck me,” he growls and means it completely and totally, curling his fingers into Steve’s hair and dragging him down to kiss him again. There’s movement but Bucky doesn’t pay much attention to it, just notes the rip of the condom wrapper and the lather of lube on Steve’s cock. He’s waiting for it, trying to swallow Steve from the mouth in the meantime, when finally Steve breaches him, a slow and steady movement of his hips as he pushes into Bucky.

“Come on,” Bucky manages, but his voice is tight and Steve whispers for him to relax, strokes fingers through his hair and continues to slide in so fucking carefully, like Bucky could shatter or something, sooner or later. “Come on, Steve.”

Steve bottoms out with one hand still carding through Bucky’s hair and the other with a bruising grip on his right hip. Bucky sort of loves it, the vague pain in the back of his head that distracts from Steve’s cock. It’s good though, all over, and he’s still hard, wants to touch himself.

Steve creates a steady rhythm and Bucky feels each thrust like it’s brand new, Steve moving inside of him. Steve’s hands hold Bucky’s thighs and Bucky is breathing hard and heavy, his cock twitching and untouched on his stomach. It feels like an age before Steve finally wraps his fingers around Bucky’s cock and starts to jack him off, thrusts quickening as Steve reaches his climax as well, cursing as he bites down on Bucky’s shoulder.

Steve comes first but it only takes a few more uneven strokes from Steve’s long fingers to get Bucky to lose himself, eyes squeezing shut as he spills out onto his stomach and chest and into Steve’s willing palm.

They move languidly, slowly as Steve pulls out and rolls over, stumbling across the room to tie and throw the condom out before grabbing a box of tissues. He cleans Bucky off half by licking at his skin (which would be hotter if Bucky wasn’t so fucked out he could barely move) and half with the tissue, finally throwing that in the trash too and settling down next to him in bed.

Neither of them says anything. The quiet is pleasant.

-

Bucky wakes up alone. But he doesn’t smell coffee or breakfast waiting, and there’s no note on a shelf or the dresser or the bedside table.

He rolls out of bed and it’s almost 10 in the morning. Rubbing his eyes, he tries to remember when they fell asleep. After recovering, they had sort of started talking. If Bucky remembers correctly, they talked about work. And work involves…Bucky can hardly even place it anymore, and he sighs, giving up on trying. He stands and stumbles out of the bedroom, into the hallway and down the kitchen. No note there, either. Maybe Steve just went out to grab the paper. He starts the coffee pot and waits.

Ten minutes later he’s made coffee and no one’s there.

 _Unbelievable_ , he thinks. Steve wouldn’t do that, would he? Just leave Bucky alone after giving him the best sex of his life. Bucky’s pretty sure he remembers falling asleep with his head on Steve’s chest, too, hand carding slowly through his hair. The memory makes him stiffen and he leaves his coffee in the tiny kitchenette, heading back into the bedroom. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, just figures he’ll know when he sees it. He scans the bedroom, but nothing’s out of order, not even his desk with all his messy papers and that fancy new computer that plugs right into the wall and charges up just like that.

He opens his closet.

A quick sweep shows no trouble.

Then he looks down at his safe.

His safe is very important.

It’s been left ajar.

Steve was in his safe.

Steve stole something in his safe.

There was valuable intelligence in his safe. Things no one was supposed to know. Things that could possibly endanger the American population, and, indeed, the population of the world. Bucky didn’t feel good about keeping it, no, but it was his duty. The moment this shit hits the press – well, the saying is, as he’s learned, it hits the fan as well.

He bends over and rummages through, but it’s obvious they’re missing. Blueprints, one-of-a-kind documents that Bucky managed to steal months ago. Back when he was still a spy.

He thought he’d left that all behind him.

But no, he realizes, burying his face in his hands.

It isn’t the lost papers.

It isn’t that they were stolen.

It’s who stole them.

His chest feels empty. He thinks of the ache in the rest of his body which had formerly been pleasant, had meant something nice. Now he thinks about it as someone using him. Thinks about all of Steve’s gentleness, bringing him the food and sitting with him and kissing him.

All to get this.

But of course; Steve has always said that duty calls. He has to protect his people (he’s a captain, after all, a superhero, and Bucky just can’t live up to that).

It isn’t the Steve he knows. But it’s the Steve of 2012, it’s the Steve of the future, it’s the Steve who’s fallen into all of the deceit and lies that comes with change and the sudden, jarring realization of it. 

Steve lost more than time. He lost parts of himself, the honest and good parts, the brave parts. A coward now, so changed by this new modern era.

But Bucky’s changed too. He’s hardened by it, feels cold.

He knows what the excuses will be. A mission. He had to. Safety of the American people. Bucky wouldn’t have given it if he had just asked. And maybe that’s true. Maybe he wouldn’t have. But now he’ll never know, because Steve broke that trust.

It hurts.


End file.
